


Just Dark Enough

by Sparcina



Series: The Sexy Ships of Star Trek [8]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, BAMF Lorca, Clever Pavel, Crossover AOS/Discovery, Curiosity, Dark Gabriel Lorca | Mirror Gabriel Lorca, First Kiss, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise, Protective Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Sapiosexuality, Spoilers for Discovery Season 1, Strong Pavel, Sweet Pavel, but just enough, in that order, so Pavel can handle him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 07:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20671628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: The stranger in the brig is danger incarnate, but somehow, Pavel doesn't run away.Gabriel Lorca takes a shine to the bright young man who asks too many questions and dares talk back to him. He knows he's dangerous.But he's alsoveryprotective when he's interested.“I used to believe in destiny.”“What changed your mind, Lorca?” Pavel’s gaze turned to the galaxies doting the blackness of space. He’d dropped the ‘mizter’ six days ago, when Lorca had told him in no uncertain terms that he could and would enjoy his ‘cute Russian accent’ without a title.“I’m not sure.”Lorca was lying. Pavel decided against insisting and reached for Lorca’s hand in the dark. As always, Lorca immediately laced their fingers together, and Pavel knew that if he tried and moved, that comforting touch would be gone. The warmth of it, the certainty, the... tingling excitement.He didn’t move.





	Just Dark Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aishahiwatari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishahiwatari/gifts).

> It's all aishahiwatari's fault, for hinting (if you blink very fast) at the potential of this pairing in their wonderful McKirk series [Flying High](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1107387). I guess I needed another excuse to mention their work? (Yep, I did.)
> 
> In a nutshell: I wasn’t done with Lorca, and I was missing Chekov, so here: have some Lorca/Pavel. It's ridiculously long (considering I'd planned 2k). Also, it's the first work with this pairing, so cheers!
> 
> (The pictures, of course, don't belong to me... nor do the characters, Star Trek, etc.)

The sole occupant of the brig appeared to share Captain Kirk’s distaste of hyposprays, and his scowl matched Dr. McCoy’s so perfectly that Pavel couldn’t quite suppress his chuckle. Thankfully, there was no one to witness that little bout of unprofessionalism.

“Will you stand still for a minute, man? You were _floating in space_, for fuck's sake,” Dr. McCoy ground out, wielding the hypo threateningly. “I’m trying, and do note the operative word being _trying, _to make sure that you’re not going to die on us in the next hour.”

“You don’t need to drug me for that. Or take a sample of my blood.”

The prisoner’s voice was rough. He looked rougher: leather coat, messy hair, and patches of dried blood all over his face and clothes like so many stars dotting the ever-fluctuating canvas of deep space. His cuffed hands laid in his lap, as still as the rest of him. He wasn’t moving unless the doctor was coming at him with his favorite tool, and Pavel knew from experience that such an economy of motion meant good fighting skills or an attempt to conserve one’s energy to compensate for an injury.

Just as Pavel was weighting the pros and cons of walking in, startling blue eyes found him in the brig’s semi-darkness.

“Who are you?”

The doctor shot an annoyed glance over his shoulder, hypo still poised for strike. As soon as he recognized him, his eyes narrowed even further and his lips formed the words ‘get out of here’, as well as a few expletives Pavel didn’t bother deciphering. The good doctor, he knew, only swore a blue streak when he was worried, and Pavel was his shipmates’ favorite excuse to worry.

He smiled reassuringly at the doctor and stepped forwards, exposing himself further. Prudence urged him to keep to the shadows, but curiosity encouraged him to come closer to this man who looked older than age alone could explain. Older and… other, as if part of his appearance was but an illusion. Pavel held his breath. There was nothing in the sharp lines of this stranger’s face, the angry twist of his lips or the dark look in his eyes, nothing at all that spelled anything remotely close to ‘safe’, and yet Pavel found himself entering that state of intense focus he usually achieved while navigating. He felt… intrigued. Entranced, even. He liked to think he had good survival instincts (Russia taught _that _skill set to all of its children early on), so he didn’t question the desire to move forwards, not even when Dr. McCoy’s body language screamed ‘GET OUT!’

“I am Pavel Andreievich Chekov.”

The blue eyes stayed on him, and so did the doctor’s.

“Chekov, for fuck’s sake, you’re not-”

“And who are you?”

Dr. McCoy huffed in irritation. “You won’t get anything of this guy, kid, the Captain and I had tried to get him to co-”

“You may call me Lorca.”

_That _stopped the good doctor mid-sentence.

“You’re talking now?” he asked, disbelief blatant in his tone. And then, to himself: “Fucking figures.”

Pavel pointed at the hypospray. “A sample, _da_?”

“_Da_,” McCoy replied with a scowl. “But-”

“Let him in,” the man, Lorca, demanded.

_That_ little show of commanding personality earned him a scorching look. “Look, you’re not the one ordering people around here, I’ve got one already and it’s more than enough, so do yourself a favor and sh-”

Pavel made quick work of the lock and invited himself in the brig, much to Dr. McCoy’s persisting annoyance.

“Good God, Chekov, get out of here!”

The warning tone didn’t move him, not after years of cataloging its various interpretations (right now: increasing worry). Not when the stranger was staring at him with crystal-clear curiosity. He sat straighter than before, those broad shoulders thrown back, pride in every line of his body.

“Let me take zhe sample, Doctor. I can try.”

“You can fail,” McCoy grunted, but he handed him the hypo all the same. “Don’t complain if he bites, though.” And then he directed his formidable glare to the prisoner. “If you do bite, you should know that I will not treat the fucking headache you’ll get.”

“I’m not prone to headaches.”

“You’ll be after I’m done with you, trust me.”

Pavel adjusted his grip on the hypospray and came to stand in between the two men, effectively putting an end the small talk. The doctor was fiercely protective of him, and while it pleased him most of the time, he didn’t need a shield right now.

“I vill be fine, doctor.”

“See that you are.”

Pavel approached the prisoner. Those handcuffs, Chief Engineer Scott once told him, could not be broken by any biological or mechanical weapon. Lorca also had both feet bound to the floor. He presented no threat whatsoever, and yet there was something in his stance, in his gaze, in the very air around him... Pavel felt the _danger_ down to the marrow of his bones.

“It vill take only a moment, mizter Lorca.”

The older man didn’t move. Pavel inhaled the air surrounding him. Lorca smelled of blood and sweat, of dust and metal, of war, conflicts and death. He didn’t wince nor let out a single sound as Pavel positioned the hypo and depressed the plunger. They didn’t touch once, except through the needle of the hypo, but Pavel still felt a rush of _something _traveling from the older man’s body to his own as Lorca leveled him with a considering glance.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be on a flagship?”

“I am old enough,” Pavel replied, voice just shy of steady.

“Sure you are.”

The prisoner smirked. Somewhere behind Pavel, McCoy muttered a string of curses and a few ‘Jim’. Lips pursing in indignation, Pavel stepped over Lorca’s right boot, purposefully putting all of his weight, however light it may be, where it would be felt the most. A grimace replaced the smirk.

“I hope zhe needle did not hurt too much, mizter Lorca,” Pavel said sweetly just as the doctor approached to take the hypospray.

“Stop being so nice to that asshole, Chekov. And tell the Captain to bring his ass down here.”

“_Konechno_, Doctor.”

Pavel could feel Lorca’s eyes following him as he exited the brig.

“That’s an interesting crew you’ve got there.”

“Just shut up already, damn it.”

*

Lorca lost his status of prisoner three weeks later. Part of it had to do with the fact that he wasn’t registered in any database (Commander Spock, the Captain and Pavel had double-checked _twice_). Mainly, though, his newfound relative freedom was due to a heroic gesture that no one could have predicted.

He saved Pavel’s life.

He was still handcuffed at the time, but his legs were free, and he’d been relocated to the Captain’s ready room for questioning by the Admiralty. Nobody was quite sure how he managed to reach the Bridge with his hands bound, let alone without the proper codes, but he stormed in just in time to take down the Romulan assassin who was towering over Pavel with a wicked-looking blade aimed at his throat.

“You look too young to die,” Lorca declared, cracking his knuckles after delivering a vicious punch to the assassin. Fresh blood was lining his jaw.

He’d handed Pavel the blade of his would-be killer, crafted handle first. Pavel had considered many replies to that particular comment, but in the end, he’d opted for the one that had the most chances to surprise Lorca. He relieved Lorca of the weapon, bowed lightly, and smiled, doing his best to ignore the frantic beating of his heart. Hikaru was rushing toward him with Captain Kirk in tow, but Pavel only had eyes for the unpredictable addition to the _Enterprise_.

For the mysterious man who’d just saved his life.

“Thank you, mizter Lorca.”

The older man’s lips curled in a smug smile, but he didn’t reply, nor did he fight the security guards who brought him back to the ready room. 

*

The entire crew, minus Pavel, was wary of their new passenger, whose actual role on board hovered between ‘spy’ and ‘fallen admiral’, at least according to the rumor mill. Dr. McCoy especially made no secret of his distrust and had him pinned with the label ‘deserter of some unknown war’.

“He’s going to make a mess of things, Jim.”

“Like I don’t?” the Captain had replied (very unhelpfully in Pavel’s opinion). “Besides, Pike told me to get him talking, and I’m very good at-”

“If Pike told you to jump off a bridge, you probably would, wouldn’t you?”

“Ah, Bones, you worry about me…”

“I worry about everyone and their freakin’ mothers with this unknown predator prowling your tin can, you thick-headed idiot. He pretends he’s bored, but he’s checking out everything and-”

“I thought your main concern was how he was checking out _Chekov_?”

Dr. McCoy growled.

“Well, I wish I could do something about _that_, but I can’t very well lock up the untrustworthy SOB after he’d saved the kid’s life twice, now, can I?”

“See, Bones? You’re getting magnanimous in your old age.”

“Don’t go around using words you don’t know the meaning of. And I mean what I said the other day, Jim: if he dares lay a hand on him…”

The first time Lorca joined him for a meal, Pavel was reminded of his fascination in the brig (and flushed briefly, maybe, as the conversation he’d surprised between the Captain and the doctor came back to him). Lorca sat down in front of him, one foot brushing Pavel’s chin. He was tall, taller than Pavel by a few inches, and the tables weren’t exactly big, but somehow Pavel doubted that either of those facts explained the touch. The tension he’d already sensed before between them ratcheted up a few notches as their eyes met, causing the replicated borscht in his stomach to feel much more solid than it should.

From close up, Lorca’s blue eyes were riveting. Pavel felt his throat dry up and reached blindly for his glass of water, aware that he should speak up, but unable to come up with anything even remotely relevant to the current situation.

A sentence eventually took form in his head and made its way to his lips under Lorca’s pensive look.

“Did you travel very far to come to our ship, mizter Lorca?”

Lorca squeezed the glass of water in his hand, expression unreadable. “I’d say so, Chekov.”

“Vhere do you come from?” Pavel asked again, feeling emboldened.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

At that, Pavel forgot to be intimidated (shy, fascinated) and launched into a series of arguments as to why, exactly, he would understand. Mostly, it involved the mention of complex theories of astrophysics, quantum mechanics, biochemistry and space travel. By the end of his inflamed tirade, Pavel could tell the older man was trying very hard _not _to look impressed.

“You wouldn’t believe me, then.”

Narrowing his eyes, Pavel licked his lips, the glass in his hand all but forgotten. Lorca wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were, lines crinkling at the corners in handsome patterns of experience. Those blue eyes, he mused, would tell him all he wished to know, if he studied them long enough. They felt like space in miniature, doors open on a universe of their own gone wild without a witness to marvel at their depths.

Blue took on a darker shade, and something fierce and hot uncoiled in Pavel’s belly.

“I zhing I vill believe anyzhing vithin reason,” he said, and then proceeded to hide behind his glass, because Lorca had this contemplative look about him again, that heat swirling in the blue of his eyes, and Pavel had yet to discover how to fight off a blush.

Lorca picked the last morsel in his plate and dropped it in Pavel’s hand. “What’s your opinion on mushrooms, Chekov?”

“I… I don’t like zhe taste much, but zhey are very useful, especially…”

Amusement and interest seemed to brighten Lorca’s eyes just as strongly.

*

Lorca still hadn’t told him about his homeworld, but according to the Captain, their ‘guest’ refused to talk to anyone but Pavel. Well, he replied to the Captain, the Commander or the CMO’s questions, but only when it suited him, and never for long. Pavel, however, extracted whole conversations from him, mostly after Alpha shift, when Lorca joined him in the tiniest observation bay that few ever visited.

Some days, Lorca asked questions. Lots of questions, general and personal, their sequence impossible to predict or comprehend. Pavel did his best to reply to them all. Other days, Lorca just stood at his side in silence, lost in a time unfathomable. On some occasions, he even told Pavel about a ship. He never named it, never named anyone aboard it, but emotions would fill the words and the space in between.

If Lorca was aware that their interactions were recorded, he gave no sign of being bothered by it.

“I used to believe in destiny.”

“What changed your mind, Lorca?” Pavel’s gaze turned to the galaxies doting the blackness of space. He’d dropped the ‘mizter’ six days ago, when Lorca had told him in no uncertain terms that he could and would enjoy his ‘cute Russian accent’ without that title.

“I’m not sure.”

Lorca was lying. Pavel decided against insisting and reached for Lorca’s hand in the dark. As always, Lorca immediately laced their fingers together, and Pavel knew that if he tried and moved, that comforting touch would be gone. The warmth of it, the certainty, the... tingling excitement. He wondered if Lorca could hear his heartbeat; after all, it was pretty loud, and the room was quiet except for the low hum of the ship.

He didn’t move.

Lorca didn’t move either, his attention on the stars shining far, far away.

*

Lorca saved his life today. Again. This time, Pavel was planetside with a team led by Commander Spock, and while Lorca had definitely not been on any duty rooster, he showed up with a phaser just as Pavel was running for his life, aggressive bipedal octopus-like aliens on his heels. The weapon had been set on kill, and Pavel just had the time to scream ‘stun!’ before the first alien was stuck square in the chest (?) and collapsed on the ground. Lorca had struck the other ones in quick succession, expression positively murderous as he’d closed on Pavel.

“How do you-”

“Show me your leg.”

Pavel sank to one knee and gasped as Lorca made quick work of his right pant leg, exposing a nasty black cut.

Without another word, Lorca unstrapped a communicator from his belt and flickered it open. “Two to beam up,” he barked at a perplexed technician.

“Chekov!”

Doctor McCoy was beside himself with worry, with Spock and Captain Kirk not far behind. When Lorca had produced a scalpel from thin air and pressed the sharp blade into Pavel’s leg without warning, the three of them drew their weapons (McCoy a hypospray, the Captain his phaser and Spock a Vulcan blade). The Captain ordered Lorca to step back, but Lorca’s focus was on Pavel. His hand brushed the wound now oozing a sweet-smelling pink fluid.

“Do you trust me?”

Lightheaded, Pavel nodded once, and felt his knees wobble as Lorca sank to the floor and fitted his lips to the wound. Lorca sucked in earnest, eyelids closed and completely vulnerable to whatever fate the three armed officers decided for him.

“It’s… okay,” Pavel pleaded in a weak voice.

Lorca’s grip on his hips was fierce and would probably leave bruises, and it was possibly the only thing keeping Pavel upright. Whatever liquid it was that Lorca was sucking from the wound, it burnt, and Lorca’s mouth burnt just as much.

When Pavel felt ready to collapse, Lorca tore his mouth from his leg and firmly pushed him to the closest bed. Lorca’s lips were shining, and Pavel felt his right arm reach for them before he could understand what he was doing. His fingers brushed a cheek, and then that familiar strong hand was covering his once more. Pushing it away.

“Poison,” Lorca explained to the bewildered witnesses.

Dr. McCoy rushed to Pavel’s side and immediately started a full-body scan. “There are actual tools to do that, you fool!”

“You’re the fool!” Lorca snarled back. “If this poison had stayed another minute inside his body, he would have died!”

That argument lasted awhile, and Dr McCoy’s examination even longer, but Lorca never pulled his hand away from Pavel’s own, except to take the derm regenerator away from the doctor’s in order to suture the wound himself, Old Earth’s style.

“_Spasiba_, Pavel said in a soft voice, feeling a bit high on… everything. “Zhese aliens… you met zhem before?”

Lorca tucked away the needle without looking at him. “Once, in my own universe.”

*

A week later, Hikaru took a good look at Pavel’s leg. The ninety-third, to be exact.

“I don’t trust him,” he insisted, frowning as he ran his thumb over the new faint scar on Pavel’s palm, a small price to pay for continued life. “He wants something from you.”

Pavel bated his hand away and reached for the shot of Bourbon the doctor had ‘prescribed’ to him for his birthday, to ‘lift his spirits’. The Captain had laughed at that, and then kissed his doctor with clear affection. Pavel was still unsure if he’d missed a joke, and mourned a little the fact that Dr. McCoy didn’t favor Vodka.

The Bourbon burnt down his throat. Pavel stared hard at the dark liquid swirling in the transparent glass. He’d come very close to die, and yet the heat of Lorca’s mouth on his wound, sucking death straight out of his flesh, had chased every last ounce of fear… His heart picked up speed at the memory of Lorca’s fierce gaze, the possessive touch, the claim he persisted on establishing in front of the other important persons in Pavel’s life.

_Once, in my own universe_.

Pavel had turned that question around in his head ever since and still couldn’t decide what Lorca meant by it. Could it really be _another_ universe, or was it a metaphor of a place far away in _this_ universe that Pavel wasn’t meant to understand?

Was he planning to go back?

Pavel’s heart clenched. He sipped at the strong alcohol, wishing that it was Lorca standing here in Hikaru’s place, dark and pensive, all sharp edges, a puzzle that he was so very eager to figure out, but also very much afraid to see vanish just as easily (just as mysteriously) as it’d materialized on the ship. Not that he didn’t want to spend time with Hikaru, no, he told himself firmly; the pilot was his best friend. But Hikaru was dating Chief Engineer Montgomerry (even though he denied it), Doctor McCoy was in a relationship with Captain Kirk, and Pavel… Pavel had been single for twenty-two years, and never before had that trivial fact about his life led to so many questions, and such dissatisfaction. As he thought back on the firm grip Lorca had had on his waist, his hot mouth the only thing standing between him and certain death, as he recalled the flash of fear in those blue eyes usually darkened by annoyed contempt, he experienced that flutter of wings in his belly. The ache in his chest expanded, and the scientific part of him wondered at that biological response to a loss that preceded a gain. 

The emotional part of him yearned for more of those touches. For that mouth on his own, if only to taste, at last, the secrets Lorca refused to spill.

“Pavel, are you- _Chikushou_, don’t tell me you’re actually pining for-“

Pavel held out his hand. “Hikaru.” He set his empty shot glass on the nightstand. “You are my best friend, but zhis…” He gestured vaguely around him, and at himself. “… is not your business.”

Hikaru offered to put on a movie of Pavel’s choice as a peace offering, but he was clearly worried, and Pavel pretended not to notice as they sat side by side. He knew how protective Hikaru could be of his friend.

One day, Hikaru would understand that Lorca felt just as protective.

*

Pavel was honest enough with himself to realize that he _was _pining. And he didn’t fight it. Didn’t want to.

Didn’t know if he even could.

However, fighting Lorca, or ‘sparing’ like Commander Spock called it, seemed like a good opportunity as any to spend more time with the man who kept interrupting complex mathematical dreams, all piercing night eyes and scorching mouth.

“So, vhat do you say?”

Lorca arched a knowing eyebrow. “Hardly subtle.

Pavel felt the blush reach the tip of his ears but refused to avert his gaze. The heady sensation he got whenever Lorca stood close to him and looked at him radically increased. Suddenly, his throat was parched. “I- I do not know vhat- You don’t have to- Zhis is not-”

“Relax, Pavel.”

It was the first time Lorca was using his given name. Pavel’s breath hitched. When Lorca beckoned him forwards, Pavel felt as though a part of his brain was on the verge of melting (hopefully not the one allowing him to navigate the ship). The sensation was most curious, and probably the height of illogicality. But what would the Commander have to say about the tightening in his belly? Or the swelling of his cock under Lorca’s watchful, amused eyes? Equally turned on and embarrassed, Pavel gathered his wits and squared his shoulders.

“If you do not vish-”

“Oh, I certainly wish, but are you quite sure you can defend yourself, _Pavel_?”

The way Lorca’s voice dropped around his name redirected even more blood to his cock. Their noses brushed as Lorca all but conquered his personal space. Just like that day in the brig, he gave off that vibe of danger and otherness. Strangely enough (or perhaps it all made sense, in a way Pavel wasn’t meant yet to understand), his lips appeared more accessible than any other part of him: tangible and real, and so very tempting.

Pavel had to stifle the urge to bridge the remaining distance between them and _bite_.

“_Ya uveren, da_.”

Those red lips parted on a soft exhale, and then curled up in a sensuous smile.

“Then show me what you’ve got.”

They were not evenly matched, but it was a close thing. Hikaru and Spock were strict teachers, mostly, Pavel knew, because of a common wish to give their friend the best training possible. Therefore, he knew twenty-two different ways to parry, fifty-five methods to counter and forty-eight means of attack. He allied flexibility with speed and had more than enough stamina to outlast a bigger opponent.

Lorca had his weight for him, but more importantly, he fought _dirty_. Something about his fighting style reminded Pavel of the Captain’s brawl technique, but meaner and unpredictable. Pavel tried to make sense of it and adapt, he knew he was good at _that_, but he ended up having the air punched out of his lungs before he even lost his footing. And it kept happening.

They were at it for more than twenty minutes before Pavel recalled that his original goal was flirting, not sparing, and by then Lorca was on top. Again.

Pavel felt himself harden and had to bite back a breathy moan under Lorca's intense scrutiny. The more that man stared at him, the more he blushed, and Lorca wasn’t doing anything else beside drinking in the flushed man at his mercy.

“You’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?” His grip strengthened on Pavel’s wrists. “Your technic could use some work, but overall…”

With a quick twist of the hips and an even quicker trick with his thighs, courtesy of Hikaru, Pavel broke Lorca’s balance. He was well on his way to regaining the upper hand when he was shoved back on the mattress. A snarl escaped him, and Lorca’s grin turned feral as he fought Pavel for dominance.

“… overall, you’re doing well,” Lorca hissed.

Pavel grinned, and he knew it wasn’t his usual grin, because his crewmates were used to a bright smile, innocence wrapped up in intelligence, and the way he wanted Lorca was not innocent, and the extent of his desire certainly didn’t stem from logic, or any kind of self-control. Lorca subjugated him, unmade him with a word or the mere pressure of a hand, and it should have frightened him, should have sent him running in the opposite direction, but it only lent more purpose to that ache tearing him up inside.

Later, Pavel would thank Hikaru for those daily lessons of sparing that enabled him to pin Lorca to the mattress and straddle his hips, but right here, right now, he could only think about the dangerous being from another universe who was looking up at him, eyes ablaze with the kind of fire he’d only ever seen in Leonard’s eyes at the end of a particularly demanding shift when the Captain was pacing in the Medbay, nervous energy rolling off of him in waves. The kind of fire that preluded rough kisses, the impatient reunion of bodies kept away for too long, the reveling in hot skin, secret, naked places known only to a lover, hard caresses, a finger stretching, a cock sliding in, home…

“I am not a zhing, Gabriel,” he said at last, voice shaking not from fear, but from desire, “but zhis-”

Lorca attempted to overthrow him again, but Pavel had been waiting for that moment and caught the older man in a chokehold that he’d perfected under Commander Spock tutelage: tight enough at all the right spots. Of course, Lorca was not an easy predator to outplay and he fought back fiercely, face turning progressively more colored as he forced Pavel to add pressure to his throat.

Pavel’s blood sizzled.

“… I hope, is vild enough for you, _da_?” he breathed straight in Lorca’s ear. “Now tell me vhat you vant from us.”

“What, the crew?” Lorca choked.

“From me,” Pavel amended. Blood rushed in his ears. “You saved my life twice now. Tell me vhy. I must know.”

A snort followed his bold declaration. “If you relax your… hold on... I... might…”

Pavel immediately complied, not a little embarrassed that he’d let his emotions distract him from the exact pressure he was applying, but Lorca was smiling as he propped himself on his elbows, that familiar darkness lurking in his eyes.

“I am not… home,” he said after a moment. “And I am not exactly what you would call a good man. Your doctor is right about that, at least.”

Pavel gestured for him to go on, still straddling Lorca, still caught between conflicting, opposite needs. Lorca shook his head, almost in disbelief, and chuckled. The warm sound caused goosebumps to explode all over Pavel’s body. As if sensing his reaction, Lorca’snostrils flared, and his eyes darkened even further. He lifted a hand and reached for Pavel… but dropped it midway, seemingly conflicted.

“At first, I had hoped to manipulate you, I suppose.”

“Everyone zhinks zhey can,” Pavel countered hotly.

“Ah…” Between one moment and the next, any hint of conflict was gone from Lorca's features. When he went to touch Pavel’s face for the second time, he cupped his chin carefully, holding it almost tenderly, as if the younger man was a fragile thing that would break under too much pressure, and why wouldn’t he? Lorca was sucking him in like a black hole, unmovable, unfathomable, and there had never been an event horizon, any warning; just a stranger in the brig, and a spark of curiosity.

“And everyone is wrong. You are bright." Lorca’s words, the slight hesitation linking them, dimmed the fascination just enough that Pavel could focus on them. “You are bright, and curious, and...” Lorca licked his lips, briefly.

“And?” Pavel prompted, heart jumping in his throat.

“And you made me curious. About this… universe. About you.”

“Curious?” Pavel asked, seemingly trying out the word, but really, formulating another question entirely.

Lorca’s thumb tugged at his lower lip. Pavel heard the helpless moan and almost didn't recognize his own voice.

“Among other things, yes.” A low growl rose in Lorca's chest.

Pavel swallowed hard. He knew he was breathing faster than the situation warranted it, but he couldn't do anything about it as long as Lorca was watching him like that, as if the universe's mysteries (all of them) and their answers were etched on Pavel's features, highlighted by a flush that just wouldn't go away.

“I vish…” Pavel felt a drop of sweat trail down his nape. He forged on. “I vant you… to fuck me.”

Those words wiped every last hint of amusement off Lorca’s faced.

“If I read you correctly, and I know I did, what you want would hurt you a great deal,” Lorca said carefully, but it didn’t sound like a _no_.

It didn’t sound like a _yes_ either, but then Pavel had faced worst odds before.

He covered Lorca’s hand with his own and arched his back, injecting as much determination as possible into his next words. “_Da_, but I don’t care.”

“You don’t even know what you’re asking.”

Lorca’s laugh wasn’t entirely gentle, but then Pavel didn’t expect Lorca to be nice, which was why the sensation of moisture on his cheeks came as a surprise.

The thumb gently gathering those tears startled him even more.

“Don’t cry,” Lorca crooned, ordered. “There are other ways.”

“I am not crying,” Pavel protested, knowing he sounded petulant but a little too much on the overwhelmed side of emotional to help it. “I just- Zhis is- Lorca…”

Lorca’s hands had gone to his hips, the pressure strong, hinting at dominance. Possession. “Don’t cry,” he repeated, his stern expression at odds with the softness of his voice. “Stay still for a while. Let me touch you… That’s right, just like that.”

Every gesture that followed was a demand. There was no question, but Pavel answered nonetheless, letting out little breathless moans for every touch Lorca bestowed upon him.

“That’s right… So soft and pliant…”

Lorca’s expression was ravenous, his gestures precise but the pressure skirting the edge of too strong as he positioned Pavel to his liking, thighs spread the length of his elbows, hands idle at his sides. He didn’t take off his shirt; just bunched it up, mouthing at the outline of bones as he exposed more and more skin, teasingly slowly. The sharp pain of teeth clenching down on his right nipple drew a pained gasp from Pavel, but his cock was still hard, and the heat of Lorca’s tongue caressing the tortured flesh only made him dizzier with want. The pain, he discovered, wasn’t enjoyable as such, but the fact that Lorca so clearly _relished _Pavel's rendition to his desires made it incredibly arousing. So Pavel arched his back, hands clenching and unclenching in empty air, and let Lorca take what he wanted, because this was what he wanted, too.

By the time Lorca let go of his abused nipples and tore his pants and underwear from his quivering thighs, Pavel was out of his mind with arousal. He knew he was begging, could hear the confusing babble of Russian and English, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop, because Lorca was humming his appreciation, his gaze and touch appreciative as he dug his fingers into his buttocks and nosed at the trail of pale hair leading to his groin.

“Pozhaluysta, o-o bozhe, I need you…”

Pavel shivered at the teasing brush of a thumb over his perineum. He knew his body all right, had fingered himself occasionally (95% of those occurrences had happened since Lorca’s arrival on the _Enterprise_), but it didn’t come close to the heady, electrifying sensation that flooded him when that foreign digit circled his rim _at last_, teasing, the motion designed to drive him wild.

“Please… Please, L-Lorca…”

Pavel threw his head back and twisted his fingers in the fabric of Lorca’s pants. The gleam in Lorca’s eyes was knowing, and the smirk that graced his lips spoke of further embarrassment on his part. But Pavel didn’t mind. How could he, when Lorca called him _my sweet boy _and pushed that teasing finger into his hole, caressed his fluttering walls hungering for his touch? When that mouth made for sin wrapped itself around the tip of his erection and sucked?

“Oh god, oh god…”

The second finger burnt. Pavel tried to smooth his expression, to focus on the sensation of that mouth teasing his balls, but his discomfort must have shown.

“Zhis okay. “His voice was ragged, raw with need. “Vant more. _Please_.”

“Two is enough.”

Pavel whined in protest.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers,” Lorca commanded. Hunger had darkened the blue of his eyes, and Pavel fed on it unashamedly like a starved man. “Show me how much you need it.”

“_Da_,” Pavel gasped, and out of nowhere, the art of seduction became known to him. Without thinking, only following the instinct that had led him here, half-naked at Gabriel Lorca’s hands, he rolled his hips once, twice, moaning unabashedly. Watching Lorca’s pupils dilate even further was worth the reddening of his cheeks and neck, even the uncertainty in his voice. “I need you, Gabriel.” So much. “_Tolko ty_. _Srazu._”

He spilled himself all over Lorca’s chest and throat. A few drops even reached his chin, pale white against this tanned skin.

“Fuck.”

Just as Pavel was wondering if he should apologize or thoroughly enjoy the unexpected satisfaction blooming in his chest, Lorca gathered the semen with two fingers and licked it clean, cool as you please.

And these fingers, Pavel realized, had been the one pumping into him mere moments before.

He choked on nothing, his brain a mess of sensations.

“You're one horny little beast, aren’t you, Pavel?”

“Pasha,” Pavel gasped. “My name is Pasha, for you.”

“Pasha,” Lorca repeated after him, voice rough and perfect around the two syllables. “_Pasha_.”

He rocked his hips, obviously seeking friction against Pavel’s naked thigh, and Pavel’s focus turned to the obvious bulge in the other man’s pants. With any other partner, Pavel might have hesitated, but thus far Lorca had only encouraged his forwardness – and rewarded it, too. It still came as a surprise that Lorca obeyed the simple words, ‘sit’, ‘lean back’, as if their goal was the same. His fingers shook as he undid Lorca’s pants, but he felt sure as he crawled in between Lorca’s powerful thighs and fitted his mouth around his erection. Sure, aroused, and curious.

“Oh, _yes_. That’s it, _good boy_.”

Pavel forced himself to breathe through his nose. He knew that he had a gag reflex and understood that unless he trained it away, he couldn’t very well stimulate all of Lorca's cock at once, but he did his best anyway, sucking and licking at the hot length with gusto, aroused beyond measure even though his own cock had softened. When he succeeded in taking the first half in his mouth, Lorca fisted a hand in his hair and pulled hard, but it never occurred to Pavel to protest; that distant pain balanced perfectly these rough noises filling up the air, the blatant proof that while he didn’t know exactly what he was doing, he must be doing something right.

When he surfaced for air, he rubbed his cheek against Lorca’s cock, then nuzzled at the root, basking in the knowledge that Lorca was hard because of him. He looked up at him, and for a heartbeat, he was sure Lorca was going to shove his cock back into his mouth (Pavel suspected he would enjoy it, theoretically, and from a slightly awkward conversation with Dr McCoy, he knew that it was practically feasible to derive pleasure in this way), but the older man merely tightened his grip on his hair, neither pulling nor pushing.

“What now?” he rasped.

Pavel licked quickly at the thumb brushing his lips, before going back to mouth at Lorca’s cock. The salty and slightly bitter taste of precum wasn’t exactly appealing, but the hotness of the skin, the softness of it, made him dizzy with want. Experimenting, he tongued at the slit, and then probed the whole glans languidly, familiarizing himself with Lorca’s reactions to different kinds of pressure.

“Yes…”

The tip of Lorca’s cock brushed the roof of his mouth. Teeth secured behind his lips, Pavel started sucking that hard length with slurping noises, remembering that all senses must be stimulated. Lorca’s hips bucked. Pavel choked but didn’t pull back, only sucked harder, head bobbing faster. Saliva was dripping down his chin, it was very, very messy, and probably shouldn’t feel as pleasurable as it did, but Lorca was panting, groaning his name, _Pasha_, and Pavel felt compelled to go on, and on, and on…

“Fuck, I want to come in your mouth.”

A question in the guise of a wish, itself disguised as a demand. Pavel nodded eagerly, relaxing his jaw to fit a little more of Lorca’s thick cock. The hand in his hair spasmed.

“Pretty Pasha,” Lorca petted his head. His cheeks were flushed, and Pavel couldn’t get enough of this, and _him_. “I’m going to fuck you later, just like you asked. You’re going to ride my cock, and after I’ve made you come so many times and so hard you pass out, you’re going to think about me every single time you seat, whenever you fucking move, for days.”

Helplessly turned on by those words, Pavel started rutting against the floor. Without breaking his speech, Lorca directed him to one of his legs.

“That’s it, little minx, rub yourself on me. You can come like that.”

Hips moving frenetically, Pavel swallowed around Lorca’s thick cock once, twice. He sensed his own climax approaching even as tears trailed down his cheeks. He couldn’t breathe but he knew that he could go on for at least twenty-four more seconds, and he moaned around Lorca’s cock, blinking fast past the tears, unwilling to lose track of Lorca’s features as they shifted toward raw, undiluted pleasure.

Lorca’s grunt as he climaxed triggered his own orgasm. He tried to stay still and catch some of Lorca’s semen. Most of it, though, spilled on his tongue and lips as he jerked back reflexively. Lorca’s eyes turned darker still, but they shone brighter as well, and this wasn't a contradiction, not where this man was concerned.

“Look at you… Come here.”

Pavel was completely boneless, and Lorca chuckled as he dragged him into his lap. If Pavel had had any of his wits left, he was pretty sure he would have been too embarrassed to even breathe_, red-faced that he was_, snot and tears drying on his lips, semen coating his lower belly and thighs. Thankfully, two orgasms had taken care of any remaining self-consciousness, and he merely trailed a finger along the collar of Lorca's leather coat, smiling the easy smile he was known for. He really liked that coat.

“Will you swallow for me?”

The question reminded Pavel of the taste on his tongue and he nodded lazily, swallowing. When Lorca pressed his semen-coated thumb to his lips, he opened up and sucked on it like he’d sucked on his cock earlier, lids at half-mast. He could feel his own seed trickling down his thighs, and Lorca’s, but the older man did not comment on it, so Pavel didn’t care either. For a while, the two of them just sat there in the dim-lit training room, Lorca’s hand playing idly with his curls, and Pavel nuzzling his lover’s chest through his shirt, listening to matching heartbeats. _Lovers_. He grinned that goofy smile that had gone a long way in making him appear innocent, usable, and pressed his mouth to Lorca for the kiss they had yet to share.

Lorca’s lips were soft and wet, and his tongue licked into Pavel’s mouth the second he moaned. Clutching at Lorca’s leather coat with both hands, Pavel shifted in his lap to try another angle, a deeper one, and the sensation of his tongue being sucked made his realize that deep down, he might not be that tired just yet. Lorca swallowed his whine with a laugh that Pavel made sure to swallow, too. And when he sucked tentatively on Lorca’s tongue, his earlier urge to bite resurfaced impossibly stronger than before. He didn’t even try to fight it: releasing Lorca’s tongue, he trapped the older man’s bottom lip between his own and bit down _hard_.

The taste of blood exploded on his tongue, foreign and familiar. Lorca groaned from deep within his chest and tugged at Pavel’s curls.

“Even feistier than I thought,” he rumbled against Pavel’s jaw, and he sounded pleased.

Pavel licked his lips. Lorca pressed a kiss at the corner of his mouth, under his ear, a whole series of them along his jaw. When he bit down over his pulse point and drew blood, it didn’t even feel like retaliation. Pavel hissed in pain but waved off Lorca's expression of concern.

“Still not a zhing.” He smiled. “But I like your mark on me.”

The hunger that had started to recede from Lorca’s face returned at once to his features. _Covetousness_, Pavel’s brain supplied for him. That was at the heart of every look Lorca had ever given him.

“You remind me of someone I… loved, once.”

Pavel arched a brow.

“A vild little zhing, I suppose?”

Lorca’s smile was still sharp, still dangerous, but it reached his eyes, and they were so luminous that the usual darkness didn't quite promise danger today.

“Yes. And just as pure.”

Pavel supposed he should be jealous, but the truth was, Lorca’s delight was meant for him. He could feel the truth of that in the discreet adoration of the palm cradling his cheek. He leaned into the touch, rubbing his cheek against the rough skin of Lorca’s hand. Their lips met in a kiss much more hesitant than the one before, a trade of affections, a question shared in silence.

“Do you miss your universe?”

Lorca laced their fingers together. He was still dangerous, still other, but Pavel could see so much more beyond the threat. He could feel it. Tasted it still.

“Sometimes,” Lorca admitted.

But the warmth in his voice told Pavel that now wasn’t one of those times.


End file.
